Gwen Benaway

Writing about us is a way to finally claim what happened as my truth, a space which is mine, where he can’t tell me what to feel. A moment, two years too late, of recognition. To say, without compromise or shame, I loved him. And he abused me. You don’t have to believe me. I don’t need him to read the emails. I just want to look in the mirror, see the girl staring back at me, and let her know that I’m sorry.

This article is adapted from a keynote address delivered on Thursday, November 2nd at Queer Canada, a conference at Brock University in St. Catherine’s, Ontario.
Dedicated to the memory of Aiyyana Maracle and all my transsexual and Two Spirit relations who resist and continue to make beauty in the middle of a genocide.